


And Here's The Opening Act

by Mystrana



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bits of humor, Kind of enemies to lovers, M/M, Prank Wars, Sarah Roger's death from cancer is discussed non explicitly in chapter 5, musician!AU, seriously this is a 12 person tour bus and it is CROWDED, touch angsty, tour bus!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-23 22:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21327823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystrana/pseuds/Mystrana
Summary: It wasn't that long ago that Steve and Bucky met at summer band camp, but it's been forever since they've talked to each other. When a series of events has them sharing the same tour bus bed...they're going to have to talk.But neither is sure they're going to want to hear what the other has to say.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 30
Kudos: 122
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2018





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [armangelus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armangelus/gifts).

> Thank you Armangelus for bidding on me for Marvel Trumps Hate 2018. And for being SO EFFING PATIENT and sweet waiting for this fic omg you guys, you don't even know. And a thank you to everyone who responded to my plea for title help and to my husband, who listened to a brief synopsis of my fic and came up with exactly the right title. 
> 
> I had so much fun brainstorming together for this musician AU, and it ended going in a direction I didn't expect, but that I loved. Especially the prank wars. ^_~
> 
> Thank you Coop for the beta!
> 
> Please enjoy! <3

#  1

_ Hi Steve, _

_ I guess I just wanted to write and say it was really nice to meet you at camp this summer. I still can’t believe you picked a fight with Kruger. He was twice your size! He deserved it though, and I’m glad you let me help. I know you had him on the ropes. _

_ It’s a shame we don’t live closer but writing works. Or I can email if you prefer. My mom just gave me Becca’s old phone, so I can even text. Anyway, it’s super cool how you play the guitar. When you said you were going to start a band some day, I believe it.  _

_ Your friend, _

_ James Barnes _

*

Steve looked up at the The Valkyrie, their familiar silver tour bus, and patted its sun-warmed side. For a moment, he would have sworn the bus made an approving rumble as it idled in the parking lot. Steve grabbed the handrail, hoisted himself up the steps, and found himself in the midst of Maria Hill's initial checklist run. Bruce, their sound engineer, rattled off the list of on board equipment as Maria confirmed each piece just as quickly. 

With a cheerful, brief wave, Steve sidestepped them and made his way through the lounge. Long, comfortable beige couches lined both walls, capped by a captain's chair by the front, and a booth with a small table by an even smaller bathroom–number one only while on the road. Near the door to the bunks, a one and a half person couch sat opposite a counter with a sink and two cabinets or, as Tony liked to call it,  _ the Might as Well be Our Wet Bar _ . Steve passed through the door separating the lounge from the bunks.

"If it isn't our lucky 'room to himself' guy!" Clint, who was shoving something into a bunk that might or might not have been his own, paused long enough to clap Steve on the shoulder with a good natured smile. "Too good to slum with us in bunk land, hey?" 

Steve had to admit that bunk land was an apt name for the four sections of three bunks each. Each bed was just long enough to sleep with his legs extended, but he'd be in trouble if he wanted to stretch his feet too.

"I'll have you know I won that coin toss fair and square," Steve said with a smile. Truth be told, it was just his turn. Sam had gotten the room at the back of the bus to himself last tour, and Natasha had it the year before. 

"Rigged quarter," called Sam from his favorite bunk, top left, closest to the back. He pushed the curtain out of the way to toss a friendly wink Steve's way. "We oughta redo it."

"No way. It must be tough to give up all that space and privacy, but I did my time in the bunks!" Steve put his hands on his hips. "I'm especially looking forward to the peace and quiet."

"Ha! Unlikely." Natasha's voice floated over from the lounge as she joined them in the small space. Tossing her messenger bag and backpack into the bottom bunk on the right, she flipped her hair out of her eyes and leveled her playful stare Steve's way. "Sam's going to bang on your wall all night, keep you up."

"Sam would be keeping everyone up that way, so he'd better not or I'll make sure every spotlight is in his eyes!" Wanda poked her head out of her bunk. She was teasing, the same as all of them, and Sam laughed. 

“Alright, ok, let me go luxuriate in my space for a minute and I’ll be back out,” Steve joked as he wove between everyone. He purposely didn’t think about a certain dark haired musician that would be joining them for this tour.

The back of the bus had one room; it was tiny, but tiny was still a huge upgrade. The room even had a sturdy little “desk” no bigger than a TV tray. Steve pushed open the door and set his bag on the slim, blue couch. He crossed the two steps of floor space and fell into the bed that took up the rest of the room. It was an actual, wonderful bed that claimed to be queen size though it seemed to fall closer to full size.

It was perfect. Steve couldn't help but to stretch out on the blue comforter spread across  _ his _ bed. The luxury was almost too much, the mattress almost too soft, but a bit of privacy on the road? Absolutely perfect. 

And he was going to need it.

Content with his space, Steve got up and headed back through bunk land to find Maria and see if he could help her through any of her checklists. Maria Hill was a thorough and competent tour manager, which made her a joy to work with.

"Thanks, Steve. We're actually about to finalize the instrument count and then it'll be role call and hit the road by 1300. Just sit tight a little longer." She smiled, glancing at the bunks. She'd be in the top one on the right at 2300, provided everything was going smoothly.

"Can do," Steve said. He paused to wave to Pietro as he climbed on board to claim his bunk. "I'll be enjoying Casa Rogers in the back if you need anything."

Maria didn't roll her eyes, but her teasing words had the same effect. "Don't rub it in, now!"

Steve nodded. Truth be told, he had argued that everyone should get to rotate through the room during the tour, but trying to keep track of everyone's belongings on a moving basis was apparently "a logistical nightmare, Steve, just take the damn bed," according to Natasha.

He mentally tallied everyone on board while they stuck to their bunks until everything was settled. There was one person still missing, by his count. He was just about to head to the back to avoid seeing him when he heard the tell tale clank of footsteps on the metal stairs.

Their final passenger was their opening act, as a matter of fact, and Steve considered attempting diving into Nat's bunk. In the lounge, there was no place to go, no place to hide, and Steve was ninety-nine percent sure he wouldn’t fit under the table.

Bucky Barnes climbed into the tour bus with his bag in hand and his guitar on his back, and Steve sucked in a breath like the air to the bus had been cut off.

God. Bucky looked amazing, even better than his promo pictures and YouTube videos. His hair brushed his shoulders, so much longer than the short cut Steve had known him with, and his eyes piercing. Steve had sworn years ago he'd never forget those eyes and there they were, just as stormy gray as the last time they'd said goodbye to each other. Steve hadn't known then it would be the last time. 

He wasn't sure if he'd tried to breath again yet.

"Mr. Barnes." Maria greeted Bucky with a cordial smile. "So glad you’re here. We're preparing for the 1300 departure, so we'll go over my guidelines after we get wheels on the road. Go ahead and grab a bunk, and welcome aboard."

Steve really, really wanted to go for the long dive into Natasha's bunk, but he stood, frozen, as Bucky nodded politely at Maria and headed past her and Bruce. The lack of floorspace on the bus had never seemed more prominent and Steve stood like a misplaced statue as Bucky approached. 

"Which bunk is open?" Bucky asked Natasha, walking past Steve like he really was a chunk of marble.

So that’s how he wanted to do this. Steve had to pretend like he hadn't just come face to face with his summer crush from ten years ago, his summer crush who now hated him for some unknown reason. And based on the resolute way that Bucky had looked past him, Steve guessed that the animosity hadn't died down yet.

"Bottom right, left side of the aisle," Natasha said, one eyebrow quirked up in Steve's direction.

Steve, still technically in full view of Bucky, could do nothing but offer Natasha a little shrug. It wasn't time to bring out the full sass, not when they were all going to be traveling together for the next two months. 

"Thanks," Bucky said, and with that single word, he destroyed every wall Steve thought he had built.

Of course Steve had heard Bucky's recordings and demos over the years, but none of them did justice to the deep, velvet way his voice wrapped around Steve. Just that one spoken syllable had him reliving a decade past.

But Bucky hated him, and Steve wasn't exactly thrilled to try again to figure out why, not when he apparently still wasn't over it to begin with. Bucky walked down the middle of the aisle like he didn't care if he knocked Steve over. His dark jeans and red Henley hugged every contour of his body and Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

Thank god Bucky didn't notice; Steve didn't want to imagine how that conversation would end.

Then again, at least Bucky’d be talking to him again.

Just as Bucky was about to put his bag down next to his guitar in the bunk, Maria and Bruce came through the door, crowding into the lack of space. 

Maria's lips were firmly pursed in a scowl. "Listen up everybody. Someone--not naming names,  _ Tony _ \--miscalculated and brought the wrong equipment. We won't be able to fit everything under the bus. Which means technically we need this last bunk for storage."

Bucky very slowly turned to face her with an unreadable expression on his face. "Are you saying I need to go? Thanks, this is the end of the line for me?"

"Goodness no," Maria shook her head. "We invited you to tour with us and will accommodate you accordingly. I need some volunteers to divy up the extra equipment to keep in your bunks."

"There's no need for that," Steve said."I can take it in the back room. Store it on the couch."

"As much as I appreciate your offer and know that you absolutely would do it, I need this equipment to be accessible for set up."

A flash of a solution hit Steve, and he swallowed. "So put it in that bunk, and…" Steve closed his eyes as he finished the sentence. "Bucky can stay in the back with me. There's the couch, it could work."

He opened his eyes to see that Bucky had finally decided to acknowledge his presence. With Maria and everyone watching, Steve guessed that Bucky would play nicely. Or at least nicer than he wanted to. The glare he leveled at Steve still had the intensity of at least five hundred suns.

"Thanks,” Bucky said, somehow wrapping sincerity and sarcasm together. “Sounds great." 

"Hopefully it will be temporary as we should be able to shuffle some amps around and open the bunk for you. However, we need to stick to our current timetable and leave on time, so that's the plan for now." Maria motioned for Bruce to bring the equipment in. 

Steve didn't bother to watch Bruce. He nodded toward the back of the bus. "Right through there. Put your things wherever."

Bucky nodded stiffly and went through the door. No sense in crowding him now. Steve pasted a smile on his face. Why he thought things would be any different was beyond him. The way it played out just now didn't really matter; the truth remained that Bucky was opening for them for the tour and he was going to have to share approximately 40 square feet of bedroom with him the whole time. 

*

"So you didn't tell us that he hates you," Natasha noted a little while later, when Bucky had gone to find Maria. She sat cross-legged on Steve's bed. "You know when I had this room, Maria got me red bedding."

"Mine was white," Sam said. He settled onto the spot of the couch that didn't have Bucky's things on it. 

"Very patriotic of her to give me blue, then." Steve leaned against the end of the bed, listening for the footsteps that meant Bucky was coming back to the little room. Right now Maria was most likely giving him the "be on the bus 15 minutes before departure time or you're late" lecture.

"Color coincidences aside, let's go back to the important things. Do you hate him as much as he hates you?" Natasha's smile was sweet, like a snake about to strike. "Should we worry that this arrangement will result in the demise of our lead singer or perhaps the disappearance of our opening act?"

"I didn't say anything because it doesn't matter." Steve toed at the familiar flooring under their feet. "He and I have our differences and if I'm being honest, I didn't think he was that put out by me."

"Dude, he could have leveled a Starbucks with that glare," Sam said. "What happened between you two?"

The noise coming down the bunk area could have been any of their crew moving around, but Steve held up a hand. "I'll tell you later. It's... not a big deal."

There was a hesitant knock on the door, and Steve reached out to open the door. The commotion of bunk land spilled into the room as Bucky stood in the doorway. 

"So as long as I'm learning all the rules of the bus, let's keep going," Bucky said, leaning against the frame. "Did I interrupt important band only stuff? Do I get access to this room only when you decree it?"

"Not interrupting anything," Natasha said, patting the bed. "Space is limited, but that's life on the road."

Bucky didn't move, just glared daggers at Steve, waiting for his reply. 

"Yeah. The door is never locked," Steve said. "And everyone has already seen me naked, so if you’re worried about exposing me to the rest of the bus, it’s nothing they haven’t already seen."

The moment the words left Steve's mouth, Bucky's face fell. It was just a fraction of a second, but enough to make Steve regret the words. He’d only meant to try for some humor and to bring some nonchalance to the idea of them staying in the same room.

"I just meant that everyone's seen everyone changing at some point. That’s life on the road, that sort of thing." Steve winced and considered stripping to prove his point, but he clearly hadn't been making the best decisions when it came to Bucky, so he kept his shirt on.

Bucky face went through several distinct expressions before landing on a resigned, tight smile. He kept his voice low and civil, clearly aware that there were no secrets on a tour bus. "I'll hang out up front for now."

He turned and left. Steve put up a hand as if to stop him, but said nothing. 

"So yeah," Natasha said, eyebrow raised. "I'm going to have to know what happened with you two."

*

Bucky made his way back to the front of the bus and threw himself down on one of the couches along the side walls. He sank down into the couch, and looked around the lounge. Besides the seating, there was a counter with a tiny sink and an even tinier fridge next to the bathroom. The cabinets and shades pulled down blocked out the windows, but there was still plenty of light shining in from the front windshield. 

"Tough first day," commented one of the guys already in the lounge. Bucky recognized his mussed dark hair, peppered with a few strands of gray. He'd been the guy with the life-ruining equipment problem. Bruce.

"Yeah, you could say that," Bucky agreed, careful of his words. After all, everyone here was likely to be on Steve's side by virtue of working for him. "Honestly, this opportunity is worth as many rough days as it takes to get through the tour."

"Positive way of thinking of it," Bruce agreed. He looked around the lounge, lighting up when another guy from earlier--blond hair and ridiculous purple shirt--popped in from the bunks. "Clint! Have you met Bucky yet?"

Clint shook his head with a bit of a smile and tapped his ear. A moment later, he said, "Sorry there, Bruce. I'd turned them down the moment we got started to ease into this excitement again. So how are you doing, Bucky? If Steve's done something to offend, just let me know. I've got…options."

Bruce raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on Clint's choice of words.

"Doing ok, thanks." Bucky considered Clint carefully. A potential ally might be just what he needed to get through the next two months. Jesus Christ, his head spun when be considered how many nights that would mean sleeping in the same room as Steve fucking Rogers. "Steve and I just had a falling out when we were younger,” he lied. “Haven't sorted it out yet." 

"Nothing like sixty days of all the time in the world together to sort things out," Clint agreed. "Want me to take you around for proper introductions?"

Bucky got the impression that even if he said no, Clint would have cheerfully told him everyone’s name anyhow. That was ok; he did want to know the crew that’d be helping him with his equipment all tour. “Go for it.”

“Well I’m Clint--if you’ve got an issue with lighting, you can yell at me.” He grinned. “Actually if you yell at me, I’ll just turn off my hearing aids, but you can try your best. And you’ve met Bruce, I see. He’s one of our sound engineers.”

Bruce gave an awkward little wave.

“Let’s see,” Clint nodded toward the front of the bus. “You’ve got Wade in the driver’s seat, don’t forget to tip him in the morning when you wake up incredibly well rested after one of the smoothest rides available. You met Maria, don’t worry, she’ll show up if you’ve missed any timetables.”

A few more people spilled out of the bunks, and Clint kept up a running commentary as they came through.

“Our fearless production manager, Wanda. Fellow human disaster, Scott. He takes care of the drums, so you won’t have to worry about him unless you’re planning on taking up another instrument. Our other sound tech, Tony--he hates when you call him a sound tech. Right back at you, Tony!” Clint held up his middle finger with a smile. 

Bucky nodded at each person in turn as they settled onto the couches.

“Alright, let’s keep moving,” Clint said, in full welcome wagon mode. He waved Bucky back to the bunks, and Bucky followed. “Hey guys, who’s still in here? Don’t pretend you’re sleeping, Carol, I just want to introduce you to Bucky.”

“We’ve met,” Carol called from behind her curtain in her bunk. “Good to see you again.”

“You don’t see me at all,” Bucky teased back. “But yeah, glad to be working with you again.”

“Ok, fine, geez. Ruin my introductions by not telling me who you’ve met.” Clint rapped on the wall near one of the bunks. “Peter? Are you actually sleeping?”

A kid--ok, maybe Bucky didn’t need to think of every guy younger than him as a kid--poked his head out, brown hair all mussed up. “Yeah, I was.”

“Just say hi to the new guy and then you can go back to sleep,” Clint assured him. 

Peter blinked a few times at Bucky. “Hey. Huge fan, Mr. Barnes.”

“Definitely go ahead and call me Bucky. Good to meet you.” Bucky managed not to add “kid,” but it was a close call.

As Peter pulled the curtain back shut, Clint nodded up to the last bunk on the right side. “Shuri’s up in there. Literally the best guitar tech you could ask for. Do not get on her bad side.”

A cheerful voice floated down from the bunk. “Ask him how he knows this!”

"Maybe don't ask that," Clint said, rubbing his arm, perhaps by instinct.

Peter poked his head out of the bunk again. "That sounds like a story. Shuri, are you going to share?"

"Maybe when I have decided that this James Barnes is worthy of hearing," Shuri said from her bunk, her smile woven through the words.

Bucky couldn't help but laugh. He could picture himself getting along with everyone. 

The door to the back room slid open. Steve stepped out, a vision in his dark jeans and almost too small t-shirt. A frustratingly gorgeous vision. Bucky’s laughter died in his throat. 

Right. He could get along with everyone except Steve, and he was stuck sharing a room the size of a bathroom with him for two months. And not even one of those giant bathrooms that was so popular in the McMansions across the suburbs. Just a regular bathtub, toilet, and pedestal sink with not enough storage type of bathroom.

Bucky hoped someone on board would be up for drinking with him tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

#  2

_ Hey Bucky, _

_ Geez, what's with the formal "James" stuff at the end of your letter? If you really want me to call you James I can but here's an idea, what if I keep calling you Bucky? _

_ Yeah we don't have a computer. Hilarious, I know. It's 2004 and I have to go to the library for internet. Well I hope you're not actually laughing, because my mom works really hard but we can't afford one because of my health. _

_ It was a fluke that we had money for me to go to camp. But when Kruger started commenting on my clothes and saying nasty things about my mom, well yeah I had to fight him.  _

_ Anyhow I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. I guess I just really felt like we had a good connection or something. Maybe you could join my band when I start it. _

_ Steve _

* 

It was funny how Steve’s room in the back had seemed so spacious just a few hours ago, and now he almost wanted to offer to trade for Natasha's or Sam's bunk. They’d get along with Bucky just fine, and Steve didn't consider himself the kind of guy who needed a luxurious bed to sleep on. Two tours in bunk land had primed him to sleep anywhere, anytime, and having an ounce of luxury didn’t seem worth sharing the space with a guy who'd probably rather be a hundred miles away. From him, anyhow.

They’d moved to Natasha's bunk for a change of scenery, and Steve’s legs dangled out in the aisle.

"Still haven't told us why our opening act seems like he wouldn't hesitate to leave you in a burning building," Natasha said. She was curled up against her pillow, her legs bent and her feet resting on Steve's lap.

"It's really not story time." Steve knew darn well that if he told the tale--not that there was much to say about what had happened--in bunk land, everyone would know about it. And if everyone was talking about it, Bucky would hear, so shouldn’t he just talk to Bucky directly? Steve shook his head. "Tell me instead why you're so surprised by this. Usually seems like you're on top of everything."

"Point goes to Steve," Sam said from his spot at the end of Natasha's bunk. He didn't have his feet on Steve's lap; like Steve, he was using the bunk more like a couch, his legs out in the aisle. 

Natasha glanced over the top of her book at Steve, following his line of sight to the lounge, where Bucky sat, having a conversation with Clint. She raised her eyebrow at him. "Seems you managed to put one past me, Rogers. There's a chance you might know how to handle a lie after all."

Steve shrugged, suddenly well aware of how much space he took up in her small bunk. He drew his legs back in. "Not likely. The honest truth is that there's not much to say."

Sam patted Steve on the shoulder. "Good try. Not even I'm buying that."

"Well, it's all you're getting," Steve grumbled. 

Tony and Scott had joined Clint and Bucky's conversation--was Bucky signing something to Clint? Did Bucky know ASL? Either way, Steve didn't care; he really didn't. If Bucky wanted to take his soulful blue eyes and soft hair and park himself in the lounge, he was welcome to. The tour bus had been offered to him with no stipulations. And if Clint and the others were already getting along with him, it was no big deal; Bucky was a friendly guy. At least, Steve remembered him to be a friendly guy. He apparently just didn’t want to be friendly with Steve anymore.

Steve sighed, attracting an immediate glance from both Sam and Natasha. “Ok, look. Bucky and I have a bit of a history together.”

Natasha pursed her lips. “You don’t say,” she said, perfectly deadpan. “I would have never guessed.”

“Yup. Definitely thought it was the first time you guys have met,” Sam added. His eyes twinkled with mirth; how dare they get so much enjoyment out of Steve’s distress?

Steve swung his legs in the aisle like he was testing the chances that he could make a running jump and leave them behind. He wouldn’t get far; the bus was 45 feet long and probably only 36 of those feet were accessible for hiding. 

“We went to band camp together one summer.” 

Sam dropped his voice low. “Oh my god, is this a set up for a forbidden love story? He was in cabin A, you were in cabin B? And never shall the twain meet?”

Natasha’s full body laugh had her legs shaking in Steve’s lap. 

“Nothing like that,” Steve admitted. “We got to be good friends and then we were pen pals for awhile.”

“Like it was the 80s?” Natasha asked. “This really is a movie plot, isn’t it? You’ve gotten into one of Clint’s awful movies and you’re just retelling the summary to see if we go along with you.”

“I mean, I have to agree with Nat.” Sam stretched out his legs. “Pen pals. Like emails or honest to god writing letters?”

“Keep your voice down!” Steve hissed. He chanced a glance at Bucky, who was still fully in a conversation with Scott. “Yes. Letters. Paper and pens, I assume you two know how they work.”

“How… how old are you anyhow?” Natasha asked, taking her legs off Steve's lap and sitting up fully. She scrutinized Steve's face like she was looking for wrinkles or gray hairs. “Are you secretly 90? Is  _ he _ secretly 90?”

Steve batted her hand away from his hairline and frowned. "My mom couldn't afford a computer."

"Us either." Sam nodded to acknowledge the point and then followed Steve's line of sight back to Bucky, who was looking very skeptical about something Tony was saying.

"We exchanged letters for a while and when everything in my life went crazy, we fell out of touch. I guess I thought of reaching out, but didn't know if we really had anything except a year full of letters." Steve focused on Bucky's face, the way his lips moved when he talked. It wasn't hard to remember back to that summer at camp how he’d listened to every word Bucky had said, how he’d thought  _ this guy is something special. _

But he’d never done anything about it; they’d hugged at the end of camp and gone back to their real lives and written each other letters. 

Steve sighed. He just needed another change of scenery, he told himself as he made an excuse to go back to his room for a bit. His and Bucky's room.

If there had been space to pace, he would have. Instead he settled for going through their songs for tomorrow's concert, humming his parts and singing through a few lines. He smiled, certain they were going to have a good show. They always did.

He laid down on the bed for a bit, spreading his arms and legs as far as they could go. Stretched out like that, his feet hung over the corners of the bed, his left foot pressed up against the wall. His hands were up against the window and he just realized that if he reached his arms to the side, he’d be able to touch the couch. 

The couch was decent to sit on, but would it be ok to lie down on? To sleep on? Steve sat up on the bed and stared at the couch, trying to picture Bucky lying down on it and sighed. Truth be told, he’d been excited to see Bucky, to get a chance to see him after so long. When they’d drifted apart, it had hurt, yeah. But a lot of things had hurt when he was 17.

Steve had looked up Bucky a few times since then, had thought about reaching back out to him, but had always hesitated. Had worried that maybe he’d imagined the closeness he thought they had shared. All they had was hanging out together one summer at camp and then writing letters for a year after. 

Steve sighed again. He didn’t want to hash things out right now, but he didn’t want to spend the entire tour with bad blood between them. Maybe he’d talk to Bucky tonight, give him a chance to speak his mind in the relative privacy of the hotel, where he’d have a space of his own to retreat to. 

He tried very hard not to think of how excited his body got at the thought of spending time alone with Bucky, even if it was just to talk. Apparently his lower half hadn’t gotten the memo that they weren’t friends any more.

A sudden exclamation had Steve pushing himself off of the bed and opening his door to chaos in bunk land. Scott was looking at his bunk in consternation while Clint, Tony, and Maria watched with varying levels of amusement, from Clint’s outright laughter to Maria’s raised eyebrow and twitching lips, with Tony somewhere in between.

“How are there already so many ANTS in my bunk?” Scott said, pulling back the blanket. “I haven’t eaten anything in my bunk yet. We haven’t stopped moving long enough for ants to get on board. I’m--wait.” Scott poked one of the apparently copious amounts of ants on his bunk and groaned. “They’re fake.”

Clint nearly doubled over in laughter. Leaning against the wall for support, he slapped his knee. “Oh my god, your face,” he managed to choke out between bouts of laughter. “They’re pretty good ants, aren’t they? They move with the bus. So realistic! I’m gonna get a lot of good use out of them.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about with getting more use out of them,” Scott said in an offhand manner as he began collecting the ants up into a little pile. “These tiny guys are my friends now.”

Before Clint could protest, Peter’s bunk curtain flew open again. “There’s a spider in my bunk! Mr. Barton! Where did you get these realistic bugs?”

Clint turned to Peter with an odd look on his face. “I didn’t get a spider?”

“Ouch!” Peter exclaimed, surprise in his voice. “It bit me! Danged real, not plastic spider!”

“Do not kill it,” came Wanda’s voice as she gently but firmly pushed between Clint and Tony. “Let me see. I’ll bring it out when we stop next.”

“Wasn’t going to kill it,” Peter said, looking from his hand to the spider. “But my hand hurts.”

Wanda climbed up to Peter’s bunk and collected the spider in a little cup. “Doesn’t look poisonous!” she said cheerfully. 

“Tell that to my hand.” Peter held out his hand and gave it a shake for emphasis. 

From his spot by the door, Steve could sort of make out a tiny pair of red spots on Peter’s hand. The bus really was too small. But Steve smiled as he wound his way through the aisle. “Two hours on and you’ve already gotten out the fake bugs? I don’t want to know what this is going to escalate to.”

When Peter looked confused, Clint explained, “I kind of blew my load too soon when I lined all of the bunks with aluminum foil the first tour.”

Tony looked up with a wistful look on his face. “You’ve never heard such a rustling and crinkling as when twelve drunk adults try to wrestle foil off of their blankets at two in the morning.”

“Oh, it was classic Clint, that’s for sure,” Maria agreed. “Let’s not teach the intern all of the bad habits on the first day, shall we?”

“It’s too late, Ms. Hill. I’ve already taken copious amounts of notes,” Peter said. “Spider bit my right hand, but the joke’s on him; I’m ambidextrous.”

“He fits right in,” Tony declared. “Clint and I will teach you everything we know.”

Shuri popped out of her bunk to join the group. “Hmm… I have also taken a few notes. I’ve got some ideas, perhaps you gentlemen might want to collaborate on the implementation?”

“Excellent idea,” Clint said as Maria raised and eyebrow and headed back to the lounge.

*

The commotion in the bunks was enough to draw Bucky’s attention away from his conversation with Carol.

“That’s probably Clint,” she said, looking over briefly.

"And he's building a coalition," Maria added as she came into the lounge. "Can this tour be over yet?" She threw a wink Carol's way. 

"Aluminum foil bunks was pretty unbeatable," Carol said with a smile. "Let's give him a few days to top that before we cut the tour short."

Bucky gathered from their tone that they were joking, and he leaned back on the couch with a wistful thought: it would be nice to have that, the easy friendship that comes with years of knowing someone. The kind he had thought he would have with Steve.

When he looked up again, Steve was standing there in the lounge, looking at him. Bucky pursed his lips, trying to figure out what Steve was thinking. At one time he might have said he knew, but not now. Those blue eyes only seemed friendly and open. Bucky knew how much pain Steve was capable of inflicting, even if no one else seemed to notice.

Surrounded by Maria and Carol, now probably wasn't the best time to glare at Steve, but Bucky couldn't help the ice in his words. "Need something?"

Steve nodded and then shook his head and then did that thing where he set his lips. Usually that was followed by telling someone, rightfully, off. Bucky had learned that in just one week of being his friend at camp. But this time, Steve did something Bucky wasn't used to. 

He said nothing.

"Steve?" Maria prompted gently, exchanging a curious glance with Carol. "Are you ok?"

Steve shook himself like he was coming out of a memory. "Sorry. Lost my train of thought for awhile there. I'm just going to go lie down for a bit."

And then he turned and left, and Bucky figured he might as well make himself comfortable on the couch, because he wasn't about to go back to their shared room any time soon.


	3. Chapter 3

#  3

_ Steve, _

_ Got your last letter yesterday! Believe me when I say these letters have been keeping me going during this trainwreck of a school year. I keep thinking about this summer and wish we’d be able to see each other again, but I guess like you said, it’s just not going to work out. Once I graduate and get a job, I’ll just come visit you whenever I want.  _

_ I’m going to write you something longer soon, but I’ve got a ton of math homework now. _

_ Talk to you on the other side of finals, _

_ Bucky _

*

Steve watched cows through the window. There were at least fifty of them, mostly clustered under trees. A few ambled around to find some new patches of grass while a black and white spotted cow, the most cliche cow he'd ever seen, chewed on some grass. She paused and glanced up, like she noticed him looking. She stared him down as if to say, "Yeah some idiot got in an accident and now you get to stare at us while traffic goes 5 miles an hour."

Steve looked away from the window and shook his head. He looked back at the cow. She was focused on her patch of grass. Clearly, he was going crazy. The bus had been forced to a crawl and the next exit was still two miles away. He got up from the couch in his room and, with the decision that seeing Bucky again was better than watching the grass grow, headed out to the lounge.

Apparently Tony was taking bets on how many bathroom breaks Maria would deny to make up for lost time, and Wanda was laughing as she slapped her money in his hand.

Maria and Carol were not laughing, but they just watched with knowing smiles. Bucky was sitting on the couch, in a discussion with Shuri. He didn't look up at Steve or acknowledge that he noticed him at all.

Steve made his way toward the front of the lounge, just behind the driver's seat. Bucky was still just steps away, but his voice was drowned out by Wade cursing out a BMW coupe that was trying its damnedest to cut off the bus in an attempt to get a whole car length ahead on the slow path to nowhere. 

"Any idea on alternate routes yet?" Steve asked, mostly to make conversation. If he was talking, he couldn't be thinking about Bucky. And if he wasn't thinking about Bucky, he wouldn't be thinking about how nice his brown hair shone in the sunlight that filtered in through the windows. He wouldn't be thinking about how long his hair had gotten, how nice it would be to wrap his fingers around his hair and pull him close and... 

"...annnd you haven't listened to a single syllable I've said, have you?" Wade was saying, and Steve grimaced.

"Yeah, no, sorry. You know how I feel about, uh-" Steve looked through the windshield. "Sheep. They're just so darn fluffy. Sheep are the best."

"...right then. When you're done daydreaming about your tragic crush, just let me know." Wade didn't take his eyes off of the road, not even to make eye contact with Steve in the rear view mirror. 

"I don't have any tragic crushes," Steve protested. He thought about defending his honor farther, but he turned around to give himself a break from Wade's teasing words that, somehow, hit closer to home than he expected. 

He swore he heard Wade bleat, "you're a baaa-d liar."

"Well I was saving my best movies for later, but later is now," Clint announced to the lounge. "Enjoy!"

Wanda glanced up at the screen. "I have seen this one before. Are you sure this is worth watching again?"

"Tough house," Tony said. He plopped down on the couch in front of Steve. "More popcorn for us."

Peter looked a little pale from his spot hovering near the couch. "I didn't bring any popcorn, Mr. Stark. But I can get some when we stop!"

"Technically," Clint noted, "we are stopped."

"I could jump out of the bus and run ahead to the next stop," Peter offered. "I'm sure I'd have popcorn ready for you guys when you got there." He glanced out the window. "If you get there."

"You don't have to get anyone popcorn, Peter," Sam assured him.

"How are you holding up?" Steve asked Maria. He noticed that Shuri and Bucky had disappeared, and didn't know whether to feel annoyed or happy about it.

"Well, I built in a half hour extra for today, so we're not completely behind schedule, but in about two minutes, I'll be a lot more annoyed." Maria consulted her phone. "It looks like they're reopening another lane so that should help."

"Great!" Steve was excited to hear that for a few reasons. Not the least of which was that they'd have hotel rooms to sleep in if they made it to Denver on time. 

And if they didn't, Steve was looking at spending at least part of the night in the same room as Bucky. It hadn't seemed so bad as a theoretical possibility, but now, as a reality?

Bucky's unmistakable laughter, rich and lovely like a good coffee spilled into the lounge from bunk land, and Steve sighed. Maybe he'd thought they could just get past everything without talking about it, but that was clearly not the way things were going.

"Sounds like Shuri told him the story," Clint said from the couch.

"Aw no, I wanted to hear it too!" Peter jumped up and hurried down the bus. "Shuri? Will you repeat that for me, please?"

*

"So you rebuilt the entire guitar with paper clips?" Bucky asked, laughing. 

Shuri's grin was conspiratorial. "I might have also used some gum. But, yes, that was my first day on the job. I've since perfected some much better tools."

"I'm honored to have you ready to work on my baby." Bucky stretched out in the small bunk, sticking his feet out the side into the aisle. "She's old though. Gonna need a lot of gum."

"I'll tell Peter to start chewing," Shuri promised.

"Ok!" Came Peter's voice from the front lounge. "Wait, what am I chewing?"

Shuri laughed and shut the curtain to her bunk. She leaned forward until she was just outside of his personal space and whispered, "What do you have against Steve Rogers? Why does it seem like you two are giant cats facing off, each of you ready to pounce?"

Bucky pulled his legs in closer and wrapped his arms around them. He sighed as he glanced out the window behind them. The cows weren’t going by any faster. 

Thinking about Steve was a sudden boulder on his chest, and Bucky had a sudden urge to tell her everything.

The bus slowed to a complete stop. 

“It’s too early in the tour for me to stir up drama,” Bucky finally said. 

Shuri tapped her chin with a finger, but nodded. “You don’t seem like the type to willingly start up any sort of drama. Perhaps it follows you wherever you go. I guess I’ll let it remain a mystery for now.”

The bus settled back into a stop and go, crawling forward to claim each yard. Bucky thanked Shuri for letting him crash her bunk before hopping down. He hesitated before glancing up toward the front of the bus. Steve was sitting there, watching whatever movie was on the screen. Bucky held back a sigh and turned toward the back. 

Objectively, he had known how small the space would be when he agreed to ride with the band. He'd just imagined having his cozy little bunk to retreat to, curtain closed, the rest of the tour out of sight and out of mind.

Bucky sat down on the couch that lined the back of the room. Narrow and honestly closer to a loveseat length than a full sized couch, it was firm enough to be supportive and soft enough to be comfortable. With his pillow and blanket, when he closed his eyes, it'd almost be like home. Save for the fact that less than a foot away would be Steve fucking Rogers, the most hypocritical musician he knew.

A little twinge of guilt pinged Bucky's radar as he considered how nice the crew had been to him already–and how nice Steve had been to  _ them _ . But if his time on Hydra's label had taught him anything, it was that no matter how nice people seemed on first glance, their underlying nature could be the exact opposite. And it was only a matter of time before Steve's underlying nature showed up.

The bus started to pick up speed and a cheer went up in the lounge as Bucky confirmed with a glance outside that they had finally passed the scene of the accident. Steve was still up front, or in a bunk, or anywhere that wasn't their room, so Bucky held on to the hope that he'd realize Bucky was back here and leave him alone.

The hope worked for a good hour, but Bucky figured the movie must have ended when he heard people moving again, most likely to their bunks. He thought about getting up to go visit with Shuri again, or to maybe try to get a feel for Wanda’s management style. That’s when Steve opened the door and without so much as a knock.

"Steve."

Steve looked abashed for a moment and then came in and sat down on the bed. His face settled into deep lines and an unreadable frown.

Despite the world of difference now between them, it was still incredible to be in the same space as Steve again. His bright blue eyes still held the same unforgettable spark, like he was ready to fight at a moment's notice for what he believed in. His body had changed; he'd gotten taller and filled out. His chest looked as though he’d seen a push up or ten recently. Maybe twenty.

But his eyes had stayed the same, and Bucky had to stop himself from staring. 

It was so easy to lean into the pain and anger that Bucky had built up over the years, and he embraced it lest he slip up and start admiring him again. Just like that! Steve pulled him in just like that, like he was a fish on a line and unable to break free. 

"I can go back up front," Steve said, his voice calm and collected. Polite. So different from the conspiratorial, excited whispers they'd shared in the bunks at band camp, a lifetime ago.

Bucky shrugged. "It's your bus. Your room." And wasn't that the long and short of it? Steve had a place and a purpose, and Bucky was just clinging on like a barnacle to Steve’s ship of success. He sighed.

“Look, can we just…” Steve trailed off and looked up at the glossy beige ceiling panels. “Let’s talk? About whatever it is that…” 

Steve trailed off again, and Bucky waited. He wasn’t sure if he was being petty or if he deserved to hear the reason Steve thought they were no longer speaking. All he knew was that he wanted to know exactly what reason Steve had for not speaking for five years.

Five years. 

And all Bucky had to do was take one look at Steve and he still wanted to kiss the bastard. The realization had him scowling. 

"Yes.” Bucky managed to keep his voice even. “Let's talk."

Before Steve got another word out, the door to the room opened up.

"Yo," Sam said. "Maria's updated the timeline and we're stopping for dinner. Early bird special time, but apparently traffic should clear enough while we eat to make up for lost time.”

“We’ll talk later?” Steve asked Bucky. 

Sam raised an eyebrow but said nothing and quietly withdrew from the room.  _ Fuck _ . Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve’s bandmate was trying to help or hurt the situation. 

“Yeah. Is there a chance Maria will decide that 'no dinner' will help make up even more lost time?” Bucky attempted to insert a bit of humor, but it fell flat. He was annoyed at Steve; he hated looking at his stupid, perfect blue eyes and that annoyingly earnest way his forehead furrowed when he considered a point. 

“Nah,” Steve said with an easy smile, a smile that made Bucky’s traitorous knees weak. “She’s strict on her timelines, but she’s also reasonable and knows that Scott would help lead a revolution if she denied him dinner. Not to mention, Wade needs a federally mandated break.”

Bucky hated it. He hated how Steve just made conversation like he hadn’t completely ignored Bucky’s letter those five years ago. He wanted nothing more than to turn heel and leave the tour and just never have to look at Steve again. Instead, he got up and opened the door to see where they were stopping for dinner. They’d talk later, assuming Bucky didn’t lose his nerve.

*

“There you go, little guy,” Wanda said as she let the tiny spider out of her cup onto the ground. 

The rest of the group spilled off of the bus to enjoy the fresh air of the truck stop. A few cars on the highway saw the tour bus and stopped to get gas just for a chance to see Natasha, Sam, and Steve. Carol effectively managed the small crowd, and they signed a few autographs. When Maria didn’t pop up behind Steve to move him along, he signed a few more.

“Oh my god, Steve Rogers!” One of the fans, a teenaged boy who looked like he had just gotten his driver’s license, stared in awe as he spoke. “Can I tell you that you helped me through a dark time in my life? You helped me realize I could come out as bi.”

Steve smiled warmly at the kid. “I’m glad to hear it, pal. That’s no easy feat. But I don’t want to take credit for your bravery!”

Someone scoffed behind him, and Steve realized it was Bucky. He shrugged it off, and turned his attention back to the fans.

“I think I would have…” the boy trailed off. “I was listening to you guys’ album and it just was like a light turning on in a dark room. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Steve said. “I’m honored to hear our music could help. Why don't you come and have lunch with us?”

"Nat, take him ahead and get orders going while I chat with Steve for a moment," Maria said as she appeared behind Steve.

Steve grimaced after Natasha had gone with the handful of fans to the restaurant. He knew what was coming.

"I know what you're doing, but please. Consider the timeline for just a moment. Wade will need a break again at 3 am if we're not there by then." Maria followed Steve's gaze to the teenager who was practically floating down the parking lot.

"It'll be worth it," Steve said with a smile. "Every once in awhile, someone reminds me why we cram ourselves into that bus and drive around like crazy. We’ll make it work, even if I have to drive the bus myself."

"I can always count on you to stick to your principles," Maria agreed. "Just next time, maybe try offering a selfie?"

"I'll consider it. We have to hang out for thirty minutes for Wade’s break anyhow, so--" Steve frowned when he noticed that Bucky was nearly glaring daggers at him across the lot. It was a bit exhausting to be so conscious of someone being so upset with him, especially when that person was Bucky.

Bucky had been so kind to him at camp, and Steve had treasured their subsequent time exchanging letters. Which only made it hurt all the more that everything changed. Every time he looked at Bucky, it was like ripping off a bandage from a wound he thought had healed that clearly hadn’t.

"And you’ve got nineteen minutes left to enjoy your meal," Maria said. "Go on, make your fans happy."

"Thanks, Maria." Steve walked in relative silence to the restaurant, a homey fast food place. Sam was already directing everyone to order and Wanda was handing out bags of food as their orders came up. The crew always worked together so well, no matter the situation and Steve was fiercely proud of that.

He didn't want to suggest that Bucky might be the piece in the machine that would change everything, but he wasn't sure what to expect. The Bucky he remembered was just so friendly and thoughtful, always taking time to say hello to everyone and always excited to learn. 

Indeed, Bucky was sitting at a table with Carol and Clint, and they were all smiling while Carol recounted a story. Wanda, having finally ensured everyone got what they ordered, went over to the table. Bucky scooted his chair to the side to make room for her. 

So it wasn't that Steve misremembered Bucky's spirit; it was that he clearly had gotten on Bucky's bad side.

He went to the counter, about to order, when someone tapped his shoulder. Steve turned around to see Peter holding a bag of food and wearing a smile.

"Here you are Mr. Rogers. Sam said this is your favorite!" 

Steve returned the grin and reached for the bag. "Thanks, Peter. And please, Mr. Rogers is a bit older than I am. Let's stick to Steve." 

Steve headed over to the larger table in the middle of the restaurant and sat down with his fans, who were excitedly asking Sam and Natasha questions about life on the road. They chatted while they ate, and Steve managed to lose track of his nineteen minutes, right until he noticed Maria marching up to the table in a very purposeful way. 

When she spoke, her voice was all honey and sweet, but Steve saw the edge of frustration in her eyes.

"Hey Steve. We need to get rolling soon.”

"Yeah," Steve said, breaking out his best smile. "Let me just get Ben's address here; I'm going to send him some stuff."

Maria didn't roll her eyes, but her mouth pressed into a firm line, as though she was trying very hard not to laugh. She probably wanted to. She knew there was nothing in the world that would stop Steve from interacting with his fans at every opportunity, and that was half the reason the band was so popular. Still, not getting to their concert the next day would be an undesirable outcome, so he scrawled down the address on a napkin and gave each fan a hug before heading back out to the bus where, yes, everyone else was waiting.

Steve jogged across the parking lot to catch up with Maria. They got back on the road shortly after and, true to Maria's prediction, traffic was lighter and they managed to get through another city before rush hour. It was almost too easy; Wade drove so smoothly that Steve was half convinced he’d made a pact with the fae somewhere.

That's when traffic slammed to a halt again, and with it, their chances of making it to the hotel that night. 

"Two major accidents in one day, both on our route," Sam noted, pulling up the screen in the lounge and staring out the window. Traffic was once again lined up bumper to bumper. "You think it's a sign? A harbinger of bad luck for our tour?"

Steve shook his head. "No, I think we're just getting our bad luck out of the way." He didn't voice the superstition that bad luck comes in threes.

"That's our eternal optimist," Natasha said, also staring at the traffic.

Everyone else was making the best of the situation. Scott broke out some cards at the small booth table next to the couch. Clint offered everyone chocolates that turned out to be raisins carefully rewrapped in the candy wrappers.

Bucky was staring out the window opposite Steve. No doubt he was watching the traffic and seeing his chances of sleeping in his own room tonight disappear. Steve plopped down on one of the couches and listened to Shuri, Scott, Carol, and Tony play poker. It was a hell of a game.

Shoving a handful of raisins in his mouth, Steve barely managed not to sigh. Maria was up front with Wade, consulting three different map apps in an attempt to work around the accident up ahead. Getting through the city faster apparently proved to be their downfall, because now the exits were few and far between.

"There's no way we're going to have this kind of luck the whole tour," Wanda declared after awhile and everyone nodded without voicing the doubt that threatened to swirl around.

"Or we convince police officers to actually pull over the drivers who are being a danger on the road instead of just issuing rote speeding tickets and save ourselves hours of sitting on the road," grumped Scott. He was still going head to head with Shuri in their game of poker.

When they finally got past the overturned semi and subsequent double car crash, Maria had Wade pull over for a quick break and rest stop for everyone. There wasn’t an abundance of fans at the mile marker 243 rest stop, which disappointed Steve just a little. He had wanted to give Maria another hard time.

He thought about pulling Bucky to the side to talk here, but decided against it. Getting into it in public probably wasn’t the best idea and he figured he shouldn’t chance it. He settled for walking the tiny "hiking" path/dog "trail" a couple of times to really stretch his legs. When he got back to the building, they still had twenty minutes to kill during Wade's break.

Steve wandered by the vending machines up near the brick buildings and considered spending a dollar fifty for a single candy bar--Clint had really gotten his sweet tooth going with those danged raisins. He couldn't bring himself to pay that much for a chocolate bar that he could get for fifty cents in bulk though and wandered back down the sidewalk to the parking lot. There wasn't much cleaning or maintenance to do for the bus, and Steve ended up back on the pathetic excuse of a trail, not wanting to jump back on the bus until absolutely necessary.

And wasn’t it just his luck that Bucky was at the top of the trail, staring out past the weedy flowers and bushes. Steve turned to go back the way he came instead of finishing the trail, but not before he took a secret moment to admire the evening setting sun's glow on Bucky's admirable profile. God, he was gorgeous. 

Steve was sure Bucky knew he was there, but he didn't say anything as Steve left the way he came. Steve reached the bottom of the tiny trail again, and Bucky was still easily visible at the top. Steve stared for a minute longer as the sun cast out its rays in purples and pinks and oranges, leaving the sky bathed in a brush of sherbert. 

Bucky stood there too, and for just a moment, it was almost like they were watching the sunset together. Before Bucky could turn around, Steve headed back to the bus.


	4. Chapter 4

#  4

_ Bucky, _

_ Hey. I’ve been so busy lately too. Finals and working extra hours at my part time job. I’m happy to help my mom out and I should be able to save up for a computer and start emailing you like a proper teenager soon.  _

_ I was in class today and I kept thinking about you. It’s funny, how I think of you from the strangest things! Like, a customer will come through my check out line and their hair is curly like yours got in the humidity. Or we’ll get an assignment in lit class and I’ll think about all of the books you complained about reading for class. I remember you telling me how books for school are always boring, but then you listed about fifty books that you’d read just for fun.  _

_ Anyhow, I guess what I’m trying to convey here is that I appreciate you being my friend even though we might never get to see each other again. I don’t know what I’m going to do after I graduate. Probably keep working too. I’m applying for scholarships and, as always, keeping an ear out for some people who want to give this whole ‘starting a band’ thing a go. _

_ I’m really looking forward to your next letter.  _

_   
_ _ Steve _

*

When everyone got back on the bus after the rest stop, Tony immediately produced what he called “consolation shots” as he poured out a bright blue substance into shot glasses, also produced out of what seemed like nowhere. Peter’s face lit up in awe, playing right into Tony’s act. Steve kept his mouth shut with a smile. The liquor all came from the first cabinet on the left, but he wasn’t about to spoil the magic.

“Wow! I’ll take one,” Peter said, reaching for a glass.

“Tut tut!” Tony said, moving the shot out of Peter’s reach before Maria could so much as look at them sternly. “You don’t look old enough for this!”

Peter tried again. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Stark, but I’m fairly certain that in Colorado, the law states that drinking under 21 is permissible on private property with a parent or guardian present. And in the most broad sense of the word, what are you if not my current guardian?”

“I like this kid,” Clint announced, holding up his shot. “To our most determined intern yet.” He snatched a glass out of Peter's sneaky grip. “Hey, how’s your hand?”

“Oh, it’s feeling much better already,” Peter said, turning over his palm. The spider bite from earlier had faded from bright red to a soft pink around two tiny puncture wounds. “Thanks for asking Mr. Barton!”

“And good try, but we’re not yet in Colorado,” Tony added, with a pointed glance. 

Scott downed his shot. “Because if we were in Colorado, we'd be in Denver, we’d be drinking in the hotel bar and not on our bus. We’d be going to our own hotel rooms with our own beds instead of psyching ourselves up to pretend we don’t hear every noise everyone makes all night while we try to sleep.”

Tony kept handing out drinks, and Steve accepted his. He downed it, the alcohol burning its way down his throat pushing down the nervous bile that threatened to rise when he thought about how the earlier plan to talk in the relative privacy of the hotel had been shattered when they had the second detour. Traffic was just part of life on the road, yes, but it was frustrating. He couldn’t stand the glares from Bucky and the questioning looks from his crew for much longer.

A second shot later, Steve meandered down to the other couch where Maria and Wanda were chatting.

Wanda was gesturing down towards the underbus storage. "Setting up for the show is going to be dicey."

Maria nodded. "Let's get the stage plans and go over them with Peter tomorrow. I'll pull him from equipment." 

"I kind of messed up the timeline, didn't I?" Steve asked as he sat down.

Even though Maria sighed, she shook her head. "That second accident was far enough out that we would have gotten caught anyhow. But you'll have to help unload tomorrow. No extra sleep."

"Understood," Steve said with a mock salute. "Are you going to have me drive the bus too?"

Maria laughed.

"I have my CDL and P," Steve told her with a perfectly straight face, not even a twitch of a smile around his lips. "So don't laugh!"

"Good try," Maria said. "I'm still not putting you behind the wheel."

Steve shrugged. "Just an option." He looked toward the driver seat and saw Bucky taking a shot with Carol.

For a moment, Bucky seemed so carefree and happy, staring Carol down in a friendly competition to see who could keep a straight face longer. Just when Steve thought it would have to be a draw, Bucky burst out laughing.

"God _ damn _ my throat is on fire. What does Tony put in those?" Bucky asked.

"Proprietary information," Tony said solemnly. "Want another? You know, to make an educated guess."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "If I have too many of those, I won't know which way is up, let alone tell what's in it."

Tony slapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. "I think I like this guy."

And damn if Steve didn’t tense at the sight of Tony’s fingers curled around Bucky’s shirt. He let out a long breath. How long had he dreamed of being able to touch Bucky like that? It’d been a nightly fantasy, a nightly hope while he waited for Bucky’s next letter.

God. Bucky’s next letter.

"You're about a million miles away," came a voice, and Steve turned to see that Bruce had come into the lounge. 

Bruce followed Steve's gaze to Bucky and then frowned. "He really doesn’t seem to like you, you know?"

In the shining artificial light of the lounge, Bucky almost seemed to glow. Steve shook his head at himself, watching Bucky from the side of his vision. "I guess I'm hopeful we can talk it out. I think there's been a misunderstanding."

"On top of things as always." They chatted awhile long before Bruce started yawning. He stretched as he got up from the couch. "I'm turning in to meditate before bed. Best of luck to you."

“And you,” Steve agreed.

Bruce grinned, pulling ear plugs out of his pocket as he disappeared into bunk land.

Next to Steve, Scott and Peter were having a talk about insects. Bugs and spiders must be absolutely riveting as they seemed deeply enthralled with each other’s words, but Steve must have missed the memo. He looked around the bus. Sam and Natasha had cornered Bucky by the captain's chair and Tony was shaking out the last bit of something golden from a bottle into Clint's cup. 

"I didn't know you played the violin," Bucky was saying to Sam.

"All the violin you hear in our studio versions is me, yeah." Sam brushed off his sleeve. "But I prefer playing the drums on the road."

Nat leaned in to whisper loudly, "That's because he prefers to make the tour as complicated as possible. Could you imagine how much time we'd save if he just had to pull out a violin for performances?"

Bucky laughed, and Steve frowned. Of course he was happy that Bucky was getting along with his band mates. Somewhere, his teenaged self reminded him yet again about their summer together. He wanted to be the recipient of that gorgeous smile again, of the loose way that Bucky leaned to the side. He wanted to lose himself in those steel blue eyes. Steve turned to Tony. 

"What do you have left?" He asked, holding out a hand.

Tony didn't disappoint, producing a tumbler of alcohol and handing it to Steve in one smooth motion. "You'll forgive me for offering the bottom shelf stuff but truth be told, I did expect to be able to stock up tonight."

"Yeah, I hear you." Steve didn't much care what was in his cup, just that it helped make his head a little bit fuzzier.

Steve shuffled around Clint and sat down next to Shuri.

"Another start to another tour," he noted. "What kind of excitement do you have planned for us?"

Shuri smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about. But I'd love to hear more about you and Bucky."

Everyone wanted to know about Bucky. Steve pressed his lips together;  _ he _ wanted to know about Bucky, too. 

"I don't know much about it myself, as you might have noticed," he joked, and then drank half his cup.

"I might have observed something along those lines, yes." Shuri raised an eyebrow.

Steve took another sip of Tony’s concoction. "Ok. I'll tell you one thing in exchange for you telling me what you'd be doing if you weren't on tour with us."

"Oh that's easy. I'd be tormenting my brother." Shuri crossed her arms and tilted her head at Steve, waiting for him to answer her question.

"Makes sense," Steve said. He was buying time and they both knew it. Bucky was still talking to Natasha and Sam, so Steve just kept his voice low as he admitted, "Bucky was my second crush."

"Don't think I don't understand what you're doing by admitting he's your second crush," Shuri admonished, but she was smiling. "Seeing as you don't want to answer, I'm not going to force it. Who was your first crush?"

"Shit, I didn't expect that to work," Steve said, pretending to be flustered and knowing Shuri saw right through that. "My first crush was a girl named Sharon in my 8th grade drama class. It didn't work out as well as I had hoped."

"Ah, young love," Shuri said, as if she wasn't a few years younger than Steve. "My brother will probably have a hard time of it if and when I start dating."

"Older brother I assume? He seems protective."

Shuri laughed. "Yes, you could say that."

"I never had any siblings. Kind of wish I did," Steve said, a little wistfully. He shook himself and smiled before downing the rest of his drink. "And with that, I think I'm going to be responsible and go to sleep."

"Very responsible. I think my brother would like you."

With a wave and a round of good nights, Steve endured the good natured teasing about him getting the nicest bed on board. He caught Bucky’s eye for the briefest moment, and even opened his mouth to suggest Bucky come back too. So they could talk.

Bucky frowned at Steve, the corners of his too gorgeous mouth curving down in disappointment at him, and Steve lost his nerve. He made his way to the back and laid down, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that sleep wasn’t in the cards. Hoping that somehow, Bucky would decide to come and talk, Steve got out a book and started to read.

* 

"So if you're up to it, we can try working out a song together," Sam was saying, but Bucky was focused on Steve, who was talking to Shuri.

"Yeah," Bucky said, forcing his eyes back to Sam. "Sounds good."

Sam was about to say something else when Steve got up and started saying goodnight to everyone. Bucky bit his lower lip. Did he go after Steve and force their conversation now? Or did he wait? He mentioned vaguely to Sam and Natasha that he was going to get some water or something, and ended up sitting by Clint.

The door to the bathroom opened with a bit of a bang. Bruce, who'd apparently done a meditation before coming out to use the little bathroom, burst from the bathroom holding a red-stained toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. Either he’d brushed so vigorously that the entire toothbrush was covered in blood or he was trying to brush with a Bloody Mary, but Bucky doubted that either of those were the case.

“There’s  _ tomato paste _ in my toothpaste,” Bruce stated, brandishing the offending tube so everyone could see that it was, in fact, filled with tomato paste. “I’m not even mad. I just want to know how you got it into the tube.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile as Shuri raised her hand to claim ownership of the prank. Clint offered her a high five and Tony gave a little nod of acknowledgement.

“You have learned well, young grasshopper,” Clint said.

Shuri grinned. “Would you like to know the secret?” she asked Bruce, and he nodded. They sat down to a discussion of fluid viscosity, and Bucky, though somewhat interested, moved on. Fluid viscosity was a bit beyond his current stage of inebriation.

All around him, people were talking and Bucky stood in the middle of the noise. His pleasant buzz faded with the realization that Steve was in the back of the bus. Waiting. 

Did he imagine the looks everyone gave him when he said his good nights? Bucky went through to the middle of the bus, where several of the bunk curtains were already pulled closed. He walked quietly. Even still, he stopped when he got to the door. Steve had said twice that he could just enter without knocking, that he could treat the room like his own. 

Bucky put his hand up, intending to reach for the handle.

What if Steve was naked? 

Bucky inhaled sharply, his hand stayed by the errant thought. He shouldn’t be so damned excited by the thought, but if there was one thing that being on a bus with Steve all day had reminded him, it was that Steve was gorgeous. Bucky had to smile, ruefully, as he remembered Steve as all angles and edges that summer they’d had together at camp. No matter how his body had changed, his sharp blue eyes were the same. He still set his face in that familiar stubborn way. 

Goddamned Steve Rogers. Bucky took a deep breath, pushed open the door, noted immediately that Steve was not naked or in the process of becoming naked, and walked into the room like he belonged there. His strut lasted all of two steps before he was at the couch.

Steve was sitting up on the bed, looking at a book. In the dim light of the room, he looked like he was frowning. He didn’t look up at Bucky, but he did acknowledge him. “Hey.”

Bucky bit his lip. “Hey."

Steve didn't say anything for a long while. Bucky was too amped up, too far from tipsy and too close to drunk, and every single second dragged on for eternity. God, how many shots had Tony produced in the course of two hours anyhow? 

Steve’s eyes were so damned blue, like he was staring into a cloudless sky. Fuck, was he staring? Bucky flopped onto the couch with all the ease of alcohol-relaxed limbs and shoved his head in the pillow. 

Had Steve said anything yet? Bucky was pretty sure the answer was still no. He tossed up his shoulders in some facsimile of a shrug and tried to remember if Steve had said something or not.

Steve started to talk. “I thought maybe we could talk things over?” Each word was practically a study in hesitation, a master thesis on conversation he didn’t want to make.

Bucky squirmed on the couch, burying his head farther in his pillow. A little childish, yes, but in his defense, it was the first day he’d spent with Steve no farther than 30 feet away from him at any given time. They hadn’t been that close since camp.

“Fuck,” Bucky swore under his breath, but the room was barely big enough to be considered a room. Steve heard him.

“It doesn’t have to be tonight.” There was a rustling, like maybe Steve was putting his book away. Then there was another long pause where unspoken words hung in the air, and Bucky became acutely aware of how narrow the couch was as he tried to turn away from Steve. 

The uncomfortable silence built into a soundless frenzy. Bucky curled up on the couch and tried to pretend that he was passed out. 

The words that Steve never said five years ago were the whole reason they were in this predicament, but now, the words Steve  _ might _ say were even more terrifying.

Right now, he was in some sort of aggravating Schrodinger's paradox where Steve simultaneously was the biggest hypocrite, championing for queer rights by day and ignoring Bucky's heartfelt confessions by night, and was also,  _ possibly _ , a decent guy who’d been at the center of a huge misunderstanding. The satisfaction of exposing him was tempting, but Bucky thought back to their stop for dinner and how Steve had interacted with his fans and he couldn't bring himself to hurl the accusations until he'd,  _ ugh _ , talked to him. 

Bucky's head rang with a dull bit of a headache. He knew he ought to drink some water, maybe eat a cracker or something, but he stayed on the couch and the room wobbled around him, the slight rise and fall of the road magnified by his tipsy state.

"Doesn't seem fair to bother you with it right now." Steve was pretty much mumbling, and Bucky had to strain to hear, but he wasn't about to turn around to listen. "I just want to give you the chance to say what you need to."

God. Why couldn't Steve just yell at him, why couldn't Bucky yell back, why couldn’t they both just scream five years of frustration and be done with it? No, instead Steve had to act the part of a caring, level headed…friend. Even after Bucky had spent all day glaring at him and sniping at him and generally being an asshole. 

"Just wanna sleep," Bucky lied, his eyes still closed. He could tell Steve turned off the lights when darkness settled on his eyelids. 

That sense of unspoken words, of conversations long lost, hung in the air, and Bucky didn't know how to drown out the sound of nothing. The road was loud in its own way, but the sound of tires on asphalt faded into white noise. Bucky thought about getting out his headphones and falling asleep to music like he'd done as a teenager, but then he'd have to get off the couch long enough to grab his bag in the storage underneath the cushions.

And if he moved too much, Steve might start talking again. And if Steve started talking again, he could say things. 

Permanent things like, "I never liked you Bucky." 

And things like, "I don't know how you thought I wanted to be with you."

So Bucky didn't move, and Steve didn't say anything and it might have been okay, except the couch was too narrow and Bucky couldn't fall asleep. Thoughts ran through his head faster than he could keep track and threatened to spill out from his lips.

_ Why didn’t you respond to my letter _ ?

Frustration snaked into Bucky's chest and wound itself tight. Bucky took a deep, quiet breath. He was pretty sure it had been long enough that Steve had probably fallen asleep, right? Bucky tentatively began to roll over, moving slow and as silent as he could. The leather underneath him didn't cooperate, rustling every time Bucky moved.

Bucky settled on his back. The light was out and the papery blinds pulled down, but a little bit of light leaked from the front lounge through the cracks of the door. The lights on the highway cast a pale glow on the blinds at regular intervals.

Even with his eyes closed and his breathing as even as possible, Bucky still noticed the way Steve's desire to say something lingered in the air. It would have been the elephant in the room had there been enough space for an elephant. Instead it was more like a platypus; clearly there and Bucky didn't want to know why. So Steve wasn't asleep either. Bucky was torn between annoyed that Steve wouldn't fall asleep and pleased that he was apparently suffering too.

Bucky rolled again, the sofa creaking under him with every movement again. Facing Steve's bed, even with his eyes closed, was too much. Bucky grumbled and worked his way into his stomach. Rustle, rustle, went the couch. If he couldn't get comfortable on his stomach, he was shit out of luck because he wasn't moving again. 

The bus went over a rougher patch of the road and Bucky bounced on the couch. He couldn’t help the grumble that made its way out.

“Doing okay on the couch?” Steve asked. 

For fuck’s sake, Steve sounded guilty, and Bucky realized that he was probably two seconds away from offering to switch and give him the bed.

“Just a little wobbly from drinking.” It didn't come out as sturdy as he'd hoped for, but Bucky rolled with it. "Good night Steve," he added, his voice firm as he tried to end the conversation.

That silence spread out like static and Bucky resisted the urge to groan. He just wanted to sleep. It had been a long, exhausting day. Only 59 more to go.

Steve wasn't falling asleep either. He kept turning really slowly, like he thought Bucky wouldn't notice if he just moved at the speed of a glacier. All it succeeded in doing was annoying Bucky. He turned over on the couch again. The leather protested.

The fifth time Steve rolled, Bucky couldn't help but scoff as he imagined how Steve must have felt when he was trying to turn over “quietly.” 

"Just turn over and get comfortable,” Bucky grumbled. “This 'trying to be quiet' act is giving me a headache."

"Sorry," Steve yawned after a pause. He rolled over with a rustle of sheets and stilled.

After a few minutes, the awkward silence seemed to recede as Steve, maybe, fell asleep. From his spot on the couch, Bucky stretched out his legs as far as he could and mirrored Steve's yawn. Sleep didn't overtake him all at once, but rather in bits and pieces until he couldn't say if he was actually asleep or awake when he tried to turn and fell off the couch with a solid thump.

"Oof," escaped Bucky's mouth and he glanced the half foot to the bed to see if Steve woke up. 

There wasn't really enough space on the floor to spread out but Bucky considered just pulling the blanket to the ground and making do when Steve's face poked over the side of the bed.

"You okay?" And if Bucky didn't hate him, Steve's adorable, mussed up hair and sleep-bleary blue eyes would have been the perfect sight to see. Instead, Bucky mumbled a “yes”, annoyed that Steve had to see him on the ground like this.

Steve was eyeing the couch. Bucky blinked a few times when he realized that Steve was sizing it up. 

"You can't sleep on the floor, Bucky," Steve finally said.

Bucky set his mouth. "Watch me."

The bus kept moving, the flash of lights still throwing a dash of illumination in the room. Steve had his fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"Just. Look. Use the bed with me. It's much bigger than the couch." Steve didn’t seem thrilled to suggest it, but he scooted over as he spoke. "Look," he said, clearly interpreting Bucky's stunned silence as simple hesitation. "I'll put a pillow between us."

"I'll stay on the floor." Bucky was aware that he sounded way too defensive, but they hadn't even  _ talked _ . Steve was a jackass for even suggesting they share a bed. Bucky's head hurt so much. He was not prepared to deal with this level of ridiculousness.

"Bucky." Steve sounded exasperated. "I know you hate me. Let's get some sleep and figure it out from there. I'm not trying to use you or make fun of you or whatever you think I'm doing. I legitimately just feel bad that we invited you along and gave you a narrow couch as a shit excuse for a bed."

Bucky looked up and stared Steve down. In the flashes of light, Steve looked older than his years. It caught Bucky off guard, like he was glancing into a private moment of Steve’s future.

He sighed and stood up, holding his blanket and pillow. Even as his brain yelled at him to just go sleep on the floor, his body betrayed him at the thought of a comfortable bed. A bed with a jerk who wasn’t even a jerk sleeping on the other side of it. He couldn't even trudge slowly to the bed to show his displeasure because all he had to do was take half a step and he was there. Steve rolled to his side next to the wall and tucked a pillow behind his back.

"Good night again,” Steve said without turning over to look at Bucky. 

Bucky grunted a reply and settled onto the bed. It was big enough to lie down comfortably and would have been perfect if not for the company he was keeping in it.

And wasn't it hilarious? After all this time, all the days he had waited in the aftermath of sending his final letter, all the nights he had imagined what it might have been like to kiss Steve, to touch him; after all that time when nervous hope had soured into confusion and, then, frustration; after all that time and wasted energy, what kind of a joke was it that he ended up in Steve's bed after all?


	5. Chapter 5

#  5

_ Steve, _

_ So this is kind of tough to write out, but I was reading over our letters yesterday and, first off, I just really appreciate your friendship. I feel kind of ridiculous for not asking for your phone number sooner, but there is just something so nice about this whole old fashioned letter writing business or whatever.  _

_ And yesterday I was reading all of your letters to me and I kind of pictured myself as some sort of old-timey protagonist (take that Mr. Benson, let’s see him say I didn’t pay attention in early american lit) reading letters from her love interest who was at war.  _

_ And I realized that I really like you Steve. Like, the kind of like where I wish we could maybe be boyfriends. I know we’ve never talked about it but I read those letters again and again and it didn’t seem like you ever mentioned dating anyone? Or even liking a girl? And I just thought, if I had liked someone, I probably would have written to you about it, because to be honest, I write to you about everything.  _

_ And that’s how I realized that I like you. And that I'm an idiot for not giving you my phone number sooner. So anyhow, my phone number is 555-2934 and. Sorry for the horrible handwriting here. I’m a little nervous. Do you think maybe you could call me when you get this letter? I don’t mind if you don’t like me back, but I don’t know how I can possibly wait for a letter with your answer. I don’t know how old-timey protagonists did it. (Or anyone before phones, really). _

_ Hope to hear from you really, really soon, _

_ Bucky _

_ (This letter was returned with RETURN TO SENDER/UNABLE TO FORWARD stamped on the envelope) _

*

Steve woke up smashed against the wall of the bus, his cheek so firmly against the texture of the tan wall that he imagined the pattern must be engraved on his skin. He started to roll the other way and bumped up against another body.

He blinked and swallowed slowly as his brain came online and began to replay last night's situation, the highlight reel: Bucky coming to lie down on the couch, him not being able to sleep. Neither of them being able to sleep. Steve insisting he shared the bed.

Steve turned the rest of the way slowly, in case Bucky was still sleeping. Bucky's eyes were closed and his face vulnerable, at peace. Steve thought ruefully that if it were a different lifetime, maybe he'd be able to brush his hand along the beautiful, sharp curve of Bucky's jawline.

Bucky's lips were slightly parted, pale pink around the edges and deep red in the middle. They looked soft. Steve sighed at himself. He needed to stop staring before Bucky woke up and called him out on it.

Too late. Bucky's eyes flew open and the peace fled from his face, replaced by high octane fury.

"Are you  _ watching me sleep _ ?" Bucky accused, sitting up and pushing away from Steve. 

Somewhere in his anger, there seemed to be sadness breaking through. 

"I'm sorry!" Steve put his hands up and didn't move to get off the bed as Bucky practically flew out of the bed and onto the couch. "I just woke up. I was debating waking you or trying to slide off the bed without bothering you." 

"Fine. It's fine." Bucky glared at the window, grumbling about what time it was anyhow.

Steve fumbled for the tiny table and checked his phone. "Five a.m." He looked out the window and realized they were parked in a truck stop. "Wade probably had to pull over for a couple hours of sleep."

"We're really going to cut it close," Bucky muttered. He seemed to be torn between sitting in the room with Steve or going out into the lounge. 

"We should get there on time though," Steve said. "We just won't have any time to ourselves." The banality of their conversation settled on his shoulders in an odd sort of way. His stomach twisted, and not because of the drinking he’d done last night.

"Yeah."

"Everyone else is probably still sleeping." Steve would try, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to go back to sleep if he wanted to. His heart was just starting to go back to a normal rate after the look Bucky had given him.

"Yeah."

They fell into silence, the kind that thickened like pea soup and blanketed everything with heavy discomfort. Steve thought he'd prefer to clean pea soup off of every surface in the bus rather than sit here in this silence with Bucky.

"You remember the last day of camp, when--"

Bucky cut him off. "Does it matter?" 

A weight dropped into Steve's stomach. Maybe he really did have the wrong read of the situation from the beginning. "I thought, maybe, we could remember something pleasant together."

Bucky made a face like he'd smelled something sour, and Steve's entire spirit fell into his feet. "Please, Bucky, you've got to tell me what I did. I know we fell out of touch, and I thought about reaching out to you a few times and didn't. I regret it."

"Yeah?" Bucky said, his face hard. "Well I regret baring my fucking soul to you only to have you completely ignore me and never call me and--"

"Never call? Bucky, I was an idiot for never asking for your number, I admit that. But I never had your number. How could I call?" Steve was so confused.

"When I gave you my number and told you to call!" Bucky exclaimed. 

There was only a small chance anyone else on the bus was still sleeping after that outburst, but Steve's heart pounded as he considered the implications of Bucky's sentence. Voice modulation was the last thought on his mind.

But it turned out he couldn't have yelled if he tried. "I never got a letter with your phone number," Steve said, his voice quiet. He couldn't recite the letters word for word but he remembered each one so clearly. "Was it… on the back of one?"

Bucky fixed Steve with a death glare. "Steve Rogers, if you're joking right now, it's not funny."

"I'm serious." The unease grew inside his chest, began to curl around his lungs.

"Steve." Bucky looked so lost as he met Steve's eyes with almost desperation. "I wrote you a letter at the end of June that year. I mailed it on June 14th. You would have gotten it on June 17th at the very latest. Are you telling me you didn't get it?"

Steve swallowed as Bucky's mention of the date punched him in the gut. He couldn't keep eye contact with Bucky. His voice went even quieter than before, and it took him two tries to get the words out when he opened his mouth. 

"I didn't. My mom...she passed away June 13th. It was a Thursday." Steve paused as the tidal wave of grief threatened to crash around him. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep his voice even. "I didn't have any relatives. They took me to a foster home that afternoon."

"Shit, Steve, I'm so sorry." Bucky looked stunned and confused and repentant all at once. "I--"

"You couldn't have known," Steve said. He took in a deep gulp of air. "I never wrote about her health because I felt like...if I didn't acknowledge the cancer, if I didn't write it down, maybe it wouldn't get her."

"You were only 17." Bucky was blinking like he was holding back tears at the thought, like he had lost his own mother, and it only made Steve's heart ache more.

"I miss her so much. You would have loved her. I talked to her about you all the time. She'd tease me about how I lit up every time I got a letter from you. Asked when I was going to get your number." Steve hadn't cried for his mother in awhile, but today was going to break that streak.

"I was so upset when you didn't call me. I had no clue," Bucky began, but Steve shook his head.

"I should have written to you," Steve said. "It was just, by the time I had settled into a more permanent foster family--no one wanted a 17 year old kid with health issues--I was just so...angry. Upset at the world. And, unfairly, upset at you. I didn't consider that they wouldn't forward mail to the foster home. I just assumed you graduated and found someone and why wouldn't you have, you were smart and gorgeous--you still are, I mean--"

Bucky got off the couch and made his way across the two step gap to the bed. He put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Stop. It's ok. I'm so sorry I've been so awful based off an assumption. I thought you got my letter and were so disgusted by me that you returned it."

Steve wiped at his eyes. He took another steadying breath. "You had put yourself out there and I didn't respond. I would have had a hard time too."

"You lost your mom!" Bucky's cheeks were paler than usual. "I can't imagine it. I'm having trouble just thinking of my mom being...gone."

Steve shook his head. "I should have reached out. I should have--"

Bucky climbed up onto the bed and took Steve's face in his hands. Steve was sure his hair was a bed tangled mess, his face still imprinted with the pattern of the wall, but Bucky didn't seem to care. 

"I'm so sorry you lost your mother. I'm sorry you had to experience everything that came after that, including me being a colossal jerk because I thought you were some punk who couldn't handle the thought of a gay friend."

Steve met Bucky's steel blue eyes and melted. "Never," he said. "I thought about kissing you so many times."

"May I? Kiss you?" Bucky asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers were calloused but his hands were soft against Steve's skin. 

Steve nodded, afraid his voice would betray him if he tried to speak. He leaned in, Bucky dark hair falling like a curtain over their faces as their lips met. All of the anguish of the morning and the pent up anger and frustration of the last day fell into nothingness, replaced by a sweet caress of Bucky's lips against his. 

He breathed in Bucky's scent, a smell that brought him right back to when he was 16 and just happy to be in the same cabin as him, the two of them sharing their skills on the guitar.

He breathed out, their lips connecting again. A lightweight joy surrounded him, lifted him up and left his head spinning. All of those years they could have had, wasted on a misunderstanding. Steve wrapped his hands around Bucky's shoulders as if he might disappear, held him close. They broke the kiss and stared in each other's eyes, searching for understanding and forgiveness.

"I … hope you're not seeing anyone right now," Bucky said with a nervous laugh. "I follow the tabloids some and, uh, I wouldn't have kissed you if I thought you were."

"I solemnly promise I wouldn't have kissed back if it meant I was cheating on someone," Steve replied. "I haven't followed you in the tabloids, though my Google search history might rat me out."

Bucky's second laugh was much more sincere, deep and beautiful. Steve’s head was light and airy, a sudden peace in his chest.

"So, uh, where do we go from here?" Bucky asked. 

Steve pretended to ponder the question, but he didn't make Bucky wait long. "Well, we're stuck on this bus for another hour or so while we wait for Wade to sleep. Wanna...make up for some lost time?" He asked, pulling Bucky close for another kiss, this time gently slipping his tongue between Bucky's lips.

Bucky leaned back for just long enough to breath out an enthusiastic, "Yes, let's!"

*

In retrospect, maybe they should have expected the applause when they came out of the room later that morning. Clint clapped both of them on the shoulder and peter apparently had confetti on hand because the next thing Steve knew, they were being showered in--

"Oh my god, is this glitter confetti?" Steve asked, looking at his hands. They sparkled in the light.

"We're going to shine on stage tonight," Bucky joked, reminding Steve exactly why he'd liked him so much in the first place.

Glitter. They'd be finding it everywhere for the next two months, but Steve couldn't find it in himself to care. That would be a problem for two-weeks-from-now Steve, who would be frustrated to find glitter in all of his underwear.

Present Steve, however, just smiled at everyone as they walked through bunk land.

"Gotta say, Steve. No one can turn around a situation like that in under 24 hours except you," Sam pointed out, but Steve shook his head.

"Give Bucky the credit. He's the one who agreed to sleep in the same bed as me."

Natasha laughed, and everyone else on board congratulated them. Tony even found some back-up back-up shots to distribute. 

"To Steve and Bucky, these sons of bitches who figured out how to solve their problems in one day and saved us from the most awkward two months of our lives," he toasted, and everyone cheered.

"Christ," Bucky muttered under his breath. "Was I that bad?"

"Probably no worse than me," Steve said, just as quietly. 

"Mr. Stark, we're in Denver now, so I'm just going to take one of those," Peter said, making his way to the counter.

"I declare the two of you exempt from pranks for approximately 24 hours as a celebration," Shuri announced. Clint and Scott groaned. "After that, they are absolutely fair game again."

"Hey, Steve," called Wade from the driver's seat. "You gonna tell Bucky about how much you like sheep?"

"Do I want to know?" Bucky asked, handing Steve a shot.

"It's not nearly as bad as it seems," Steve said. He took the shot and downed it and then leaned forward to kiss Bucky again.

It was so surreal to think those lips had been spewing anger at him just several hours ago. But now, as they shared a sweet and chaste kiss in the lounge, Steve realized he had never looked forward to a tour more than now. Suddenly, the tour bus seemed twice as big now that he didn't want to stay out of Bucky's sight. 

From the way Bucky grabbed his hand and squeezed, Steve thought maybe he felt the same. There'd be plenty of time on the road together to confirm it.

**Author's Note:**

> I bop around on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Mystrana_) now and again, please feel free to come say hi!


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